Sea Breeze
by fandomfanatic0122
Summary: As another World Summit meeting ends in more fistfights than actual work, the nations bosses all agree that the nations need to take a break from being well, nations. Will certain countries finally get the courage to confess by the end of their 2 week cruise and vacation? Or will jealousy, misunderstandings and over-protective big brothers ruin it for everyone? USUK SpaMano
1. Chapter 1: Chaos, Disaster and Bosses

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))**

* * *

Chapter 1: Chaos, Disaster and Bosses

"Hands off, you frog!"

"Ah, but _mon ami_, your _tomatoes_ looked _très_ lonely."

"Tomatoes? Where?"

"Not those kind of tomatoes, you damn Spaniard!"

"THE AWESOME ME HAS ENTERED THE BUILDING!"

"Oh brüder …"

"Ve~ I'm hungry!"

"Who wants to become one with Mother Russia?"

"No! Not me! Aruuu!"

"EVERYTHING originated in Korea!"

"**ENOUGH!"** A stern voice blared through all sixteen, high-definition surround sound speakers, reverberating through the vast room and shaking the very foundations of the building. It was loud enough to cause the bickering nations to flinch at the volume of the voice and sit down obediently.

"**You are nations, for God's sake!"** Another scolded.

"Charlie? Is that you?" A wide-eyed America whispered.

"Oh bloody hell, if this is a re-enactment of one of your stupid American flicks …"

"That's, like, totally not the occasion I dressed up for."

"Who the fuck is Charlie? He better not be one of those motherfucking male strippers you called in last time."

"Ve~ but they were nice! They said they would give me 'special pasta'!"

"No! You dumb fuck, those weren't-"

"**If any of you airheads are wondering, we are your **_**bosses**_**." **A deeper voice cut them off sharply, clearly not in the best of moods. **"And no, this is most definitely **_**not**_** Charlie."**

Great. Their bosses had caught them in the middle of one of their biggest and worst arguments. Furniture had been thrown around in rage (thanks to England), there had been a huge fistfight (initiated by America), dents covered various part of the ornate, ceramic floor (made by Russia and his scary-as-fuck lead pipe) and several rude and inappropriate drawings decorated the walls (courtesy of Prussia's amazing way with black sharpies).

"**We have all thoroughly discussed and thought through carefully about the best way to teach you a lesson, and we have concluded that it is …" **Everyone was hanging off of each and every word, sitting on the very edge of their seats as the worst possible punishments ran through their minds. **"For you all to go on a two week vacation, TOGETHER. Every single one of you."**

There was a moment of stunned silence and suddenly, the meeting hall exploded in a cacophony of outraged yells and angry exclamations.

"I ain't gonna put up with a bunch of fucking bastards for _two_ motherfucking weeks."

"As the one and only hero, I cannot share a vacation with all you peasants."

"Hey!_ I'm_ the awesome one and-"

_**CLANG BANG CRASH**_

Went Hungary's iron-cast frying pan as it made painful contact with the fighting nations' heads, sending most of them into submissive silence.

"**As we were saying."** One of their bosses continued, voice strained. **"Hungary, or Miss Elizabeta Héderváry, will be your event planner for this vacation."**

"**Tomorrow, you will wake up and find a list of instructions. Follow them."** The deeper voice came back to say, this time. It sounded very threatening. Not I-will-tie-you-up-and-throw-you-into-the-ocean kind of threatening. Oh no. This was an I-will-feed-you-England's-cooking-and-send-you-to- a-locked-room-with-both-France-and-Russia kind of threatening.

"**You will all be sent back via air travel … in a couple of … seconds."**

Before Romano could utter a "The fuck?", before England could call anyone a "bloody git", before Kumajirou could ask "Who?" and before Prussia could voice his obnoxiously loud opinion, all heads in the room thudded down on the circular table as knock-out gas filled the air inside the room.

"**Sweet dreams everyone, and have a fantastic vacation!"** The voices of their bosses echoed out, a bit too cheerfully before static crackled through the speakers.

* * *

Elizabeta Héderváry's eyes glinted fervently as she proudly looked over her handwritten notes and plans for the trip. She stood at the bow of their personal ocean liner, enjoying the cool ocean wind, and waiting for the arrival of her fellow insufferable nations. Their ship shone a brilliant white under the rare sunlight of Portsmouth, England, its gleam rivaling that of the Spinnaker Tower. Farther along the dock, the _HMS Warrior_ and the _Mary Rose_ bobbed silently, outshone in both size and novelty by the nations' ship. The name of their ship, _The Flying Frying Pan_ (named by Hungary herself) was painted in clean, black letters on the two sides of the liner. Their ship lived up to its name. It could go up to 150 knots per hour, thanks to Japan, who invented a super powerful motor and had it installed onto the ship. Elizabeta sighed contently as she thought about the following weeks to come, she had brought along multiple camera sets and twice as many flash drives, already seeing nosebleed-worthy things happening.

_This really will bring everyone together. _Elizabeta smiled to herself. _I just know it._

* * *

**EARLIER - CANADA [8:00 AM UTC]**

Sharp, urgent knocks on Matthew's door interrupted him from his peaceful packing. He sighed and put down his carefully folded shirt alongside his fancy, manila cardstock instruction sheet. More knocks echoed through his quaint, two-storey home, getting louder and more frantic.

_If this is Gilbert again … He needs to stop getting wasted this early in the morning. _

His friend constantly came to Matthew's house at ungodly hours, whether it was to hassle him into making pancakes or just crashing after a night a shameless drinking. And sometimes it was both. Nonetheless, Matthew always invited him in with a smile, because Gilbert was one of the few people that remembered who he was. Gilbert was one of the few people that cared about him. Gilbert was one of his few friends. Most importantly, Gilbert was the only one who had a special place in his heart.

Matthew opened the door and was greeted with a flying tackle. All he saw was a flash of silvery-white hair and he was suddenly sprawled out on the floor. He felt someone rather heavy and … familiar pressing him down. Matthew blinked a couple of times, getting rid of the spots dancing behind his eyes and looked up to find his German albino friend, Gilbert, staring down at him with his shining crimson eyes.

"W-what the hell, Gilbert!" He sputtered, pink dusted his cheeks as soon as he realized the not-so-innocent position they were in.

"Mattie! Thought you died there for a minute. So aren't you excited? Two whole fucking weeks! Wouldn't it be awesome if we got to be roomies?"

_He wants to be roommates? With me? _Matthew blushed as he pushed his friend off of his stomach.

Gilbert threw himself onto his bed, sending Matthew's meticulously folded clothes everywhere.

"Don't worry, I'll do your packing." Gilbert grinned. His devious smile said something along the lines of 'I'll just throw everything into your suitcase.'

"I hassled West into packing for me. And hey, make me some pancakes will ya? It's gonna be a while till we board our mega-awesome cruise ship."

Matthew sighed but smiled as he nodded. _Some things just never change, do they?_

* * *

**EVEN EARLIER - ITALY [7:30 AM UTC]**

"All I'm bringing are my fucking clothes, so stop trying to shove stupid crap into my suitcase!" Lovino shouted.

"Aww b-but nii-chan! What about swimming and the fancy dinner parties?" His twin brother, Feliciano asked, holding onto his arm. "How are you gonna impress Spain nii-chan in those boring clothes? Let me help youuu!"

Lovino grabbed the closest blunt item in his nearest proximity, which happened to be Feli's inflatable tube, and smacked his brother upside the head with it. Must've been a habit he picked up from Hungary. "Like I need to impress that tomato bastard!" Lovino blushed furiously.

"But you liiiiiiike him!" Feli cried, holding his hands over his head, in case Lovino decided to hit him again.

"NO I DON'T!" Lovino shouted and stomped out of their bedroom. Just as he left, they both heard a chime resounding through their villa, announcing the arrival of their chauffeur.

Their home had been built along the sunny coast of the North-Western city of Genoa. A long winding driveway led to the twins' ornate and modern villa, designed by Italy himself. It featured a tall square tower overlooking the courtyard and garden, both rectangular and bowed windows, a side porch and a 5-door garage housing a few of Italy's automotive industries' finest cars. Though it was Feliciano who designed the Fiat, Maserati, Ferrari and both Lamborghinis, he drove only one of them. Lovino had bullied Feli into handing him the other four keys. A stone stairway winded down towards their private dock, where a white, wooden panel yacht was waiting for them.

"Ve~ Doitsu's here!" Feliciano smiled and bounded towards the door.

"What?! You got that wurst-sucking bastard to take us to England?!"

The younger Italy brother opened their front door to greet a blushing Ludwig, who held out a bouquet of blue cornflowers and pink cyclamen, the national flowers of Germany and Italy, respectively.

"Ve~! _Grazie_ doitsu! You're so sweet!"

"Don't fucking touch my brother, you goddamn potato!"

* * *

**EVEN **_**EVEN **_**EARLIER - AMERICA [7:00AM UTC]**

Alfred had woken up oh so very confused and just a little bit scared. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was a hero after all. He yawned and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, trying to remember what exactly had happened last night.

Though it was still early in the day, with the sun skimming the sparkling waters of Upper Bay, the city was bustling with life. Below, the sounds of impatient drivers mixed with the ever-present energetic atmosphere. Anyone walking through New York City had a destination in mind, each person to their own path. A million paths crossing and a million paths that never will. Alfred liked to just sit and watch them sometimes, the fact that people could be so different and yet so similar fascinated him to no end. It reminded him of … a certain British boy he knew.

The most populous city in America boasted exceptional international importance and recognition. Being a global power city, New York has a significant impact in commerce, finance, media, art, fashion, research, technology, education, and entertainment all throughout the world. How it came to be, Alfred wasn't quite sure himself, but he was completely down with it.

He drew open the heavy curtains that covered his floor-to-ceiling windows, watching as the early morning sunlight reflect off of countless skyscraper windows, sending rays of light every which way. It was a harsh, yet beautiful sight, just like the city itself. Living in the Empire State Building had its perks, you know. The ESB was no residential building, but with his nation status and multiple connections with the "Big Guys", as he liked to call them, Alfred managed get an entire floor all to himself.

Alfred groggily trudged to his kitchen, still in his pajama pants and cotton t-shirt. He blinked and yawned again as he opened his refrigerator door, light spilling out. His hands fumbled around, finally closing around a stale, paper-wrapped hamburger. He tore off the paper and threw it into the microwave. The timer sounded, momentarily breaking Alfred out of his half-awake, half-asleep state.

Biting into the warm bun, Alfred's taste buds were met with something strange and but yet familiar.

Plastic.

He frowned.

Now fully awake and ticked off as to why there was paper inside his favourite food, Alfred removed the top bun to find a small, laminated manila card nestled in between the lettuce and the bacon strips.

Make-shift breakfast now forgotten, Alfred carefully wiped the grease off of its smooth and shiny surface. At the top, the small and neat print read: _Vacation Destination - Montego Bay._

Alfred couldn't help grinning as he thought of the days to come. The cruise and vacation was the perfect opportunity to have fun, see his favourite Britain and bother his fellow nations, all at the same time.

_This is definitely going to be the best vacation ever._

* * *

**PORTSMOUTH, ENGLAND [9:00 AM UTC]**

Elizabeta became more and more excited as the nations' cars pulled into the port one by one. The very first people to arrive were the Nordics, probably due to Sweden's constant nervous energy. Next came the three Baltics, driving at a breakneck speed, most likely trying to escape Russia's clutches. They were quickly followed by a car full of eight, bickering Asian countries. The Italy brothers arrived in their yacht, driven by Ludwig, while Alfred landed his jet on a nearby heli-pad. The remaining nations trickled in, gathering near the docks.

Everyone chattered animatedly, standing around the moveable stairway that lead to their cruise ship. Gulls squawked and circled above, hoping to steal some food from the large crowd. Namely Alfred's endless supply of burgers, fries and sodas.

"Kesesese LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!" An obnoxiously loud voice cheered from the back. Its owner stepping off of a flashy red Vespa. The one and only Gilbert Beilschmidt … and a half-visible nation behind him that no one could recognize. Some of the nations muttered amongst themselves. He seemed so familiar, like an old friend, but no name came to mind.

"Mattie!" Alfred bounded over and clasped the invisible nation on the back.

"H-hey Alfred." Matthew's voice was shaking and weak. More so than usual.

"Did that annoying jerk drive you here? Are you ok? Did he do anything to you? What if he-" Though he was an oblivious air-head more than half the time, he was very protective of his younger brother. Seeing the little Canadian nation being raised by someone as promiscuous as France was bad enough. So as soon as Canada received his independence, Alfred promised him that "the great hero" will shield him from any perverted sickos that looked his way.

But there was only enough room for so much ego. Because of that, America and Prussia constantly butted heads, more so on the topic of Matthew.

"N-no, I'm f-fine. Just a bit s-shaken up from our ride h-here." Matthew assured him. Though none too convincing.

"Okay people, time for a head count!" Elizabeta yelled into her megaphone from her position at the bow, voice overpowering those of the nations standing below.

One by one, the nations filed onto the ship, after each being given a room key hanging from a personalized lanyard.

"Find the room with the matching symbol as your room key, you'll either be sharing with a fellow nation, or you're France and can have a room all by yourself."

France pouted but several nations sighed in relief, no longer having to worry about possibly being raped in the middle of the night.

Lovino grabbed his key and fled, trying to shake a persistent Spaniard from his trial.

"Lovi ~ Where are you? I wonder if we're roommates! Lovi?"

Lovino raced through the halls of the ship, straight into the lodging area. He tried to catch his breath as he leaned against a door for support.

_Damn. I need to exercise more._

He looked up. There was a cartoon tomato stuck on the door. Right beside a maple leaf.

_Damn._

* * *

**A/N:**

**The "Charlie" America speaks of is from an action-packed, awesome American spy movie called "Charlie's Angels" (2000)**

**The locations are all real (Genoa, New York City etc.), along with the landmarks (Spinnaker Tower, Empire State Building etc.)**

**"UTC" stands for Coordinated Universal Time. [As more sophisticated time pieces became available to scientists, the need for a new international time standard became apparent. Atomic clocks did not need to keep time based on average solar time at a particular location because they were very, very accurate. In addition, it became understood that due to the irregularity of the earth and the sun's movements, the exact time needed to be modified occasionally through the use of leap seconds.]**

**I'm fairly certain that most cruise ships travel at a speed of 20 to 25 knots per hour. T^T So the nations' ship is completely made-up. The name "The Flying Frying Pan" originates from the legendary ghost ship "The Flying Dutchman". **

**Updates may be sporadic but I would never abandon a story. Because unfinished fics bother me so so so freaking much. **

**Please bear with me as I try to figure out how this website works ;-;**


	2. Chapter 2: Rediscovery

Chapter 2 - Rediscovery

_Previous chapter:_

Lovino raced through the halls of the ship, straight into the lodging area. He tried to catch his breath as he leaned against a door for support.

_Damn. I need to exercise more._

He looked up. There was a cartoon tomato stuck on the door. Right beside a maple leaf.

_Damn._

* * *

"How can you see me? And how do you know me?" Matthew was completely blown away. Never before had a nation besides America, Prussia and occasionally France or England come up to him and called him by his name.

"W-well it's not like I pay attention or anything, dammit. I just heard it a couple of times before. Yeah that's it. No big deal." Lovino waved his arms around wildly to emphasize this fact.

Matthew ducked and hid his smile behind his open suitcase. Reaching down, he pulled out more of his belongings and placed them on his bed. It was a strange, happy feeling, being recognized after centuries of being pushed aside or mistaken as his brother.

Matthew took a deep breath. This occasion was rare, and he was going to make the best of it. "Did you know that France wanted to name me'Tuponia'?"

The other nation looked up from his un-packing in surprise. "Are you serious? That sounds like the name of an STD." He blurted out.

They looked at each other for a moment before both bursting out in laughter.

_This is could be the start to a great vacation and a wonderful friendship._

* * *

"Oh bloody hell, someone please tell me this is just a dreadful nightmare. Please. Please. Please."

"AHAHAHAHA NOPE! You are now officially graced with my awesome presence for the next two weeks!"

Two very different nations stood outside their shared room, looking up at a picture of Gilbird and a teacup and saucer, side by side.

"I am going to drink myself into oblivion tonight." The Englishman grumbled as he inserted his key card and hauled his suitcase inside.

"Do my ears deceive me or did I hear the word 'drink'? As in 'drinking alcohol'? As in 'getting completely smashed'?" Gilbert stuck his head out of the bathroom, after going in to marvel at the shampoo bottles and Jacuzzi.

"Yes." Arthur blinked in annoyance. "I mean NO. There will be no 'getting smashed'."

"Ahh you see, my friend." Gilbert flung an arm around Arthur's neck. "Though I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed-"

"Understatement of the millennia."

"-I actually know how to have an awesome time. Unlike my uptight, English roomie here."

"Hey! I know perfectly well how to have fun!"

"Tonight. At the ship's bar downstairs. Me, you and the rest of my awesome trio. We're going to have the ultimate drinking contest."

"If it means beating Francey-pants, then it's on."

Both nations shook each other's hands firmly, both with two very different ideas in mind.

* * *

Antonio looked from the key card in his hand, to the door of his room and then at the grinning American standing next to him.

"Hey! I know you! Both our names start with 'A', right?" Said American inquired.

"I never realized that, but yeah, they do!"

"Are you the one who's always pinning after South Italy?"

"Hehe yup that's me." Antonio confessed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But I could say the same about you. You're always chasing after that grumpy Britain."

"Hush now, child."

But Antonio caught him smiling as he turned away to open the door.

Muffled chimes sounded persistently from Antonio's back pocket, but when Antonio ignored all of them in favor of un-packing, Alfred grabbed it and checked his text messages.

"Whoa so what's this about the BTT and Arthur doing this drinking contest?" Alfred asked, eyes scanning multiple texts from Gilbert, texts that had the word 'drinking' almost as often as 'awesome'.

"Ahaha oh so that's what Gilbert was planning." Antonio smiled.

"Hold up. What's Gilbert planning?"

"Oh oops, nothing! Well, you'll see."

* * *

"So then I told him that I would cut off his balls and shove them down his throat if he glanced at dear brother again." Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Natalya inspected her nails carefully.

"Girl, you are amazing." Elizabeta leaned forward, sitting opposite to Natalya on her own bed. "And you gotta teach me some of your crazy knife moves sometime."

Elizabeta had always admired the Belarusian's unique skill set. Often pondering what the other girl's personality was like. She remembered that herself and Kiku had a heated debate on what type of 'dere' Natalya was. Whether she was a kuudere or a dandere, they still could not decide.

"Oh. Why thank you." Natalya blushed and fiddled with the hem of her dress. "You know, I really look up to you. The way you can keep rowdy and annoying countries like Prussia and Romania in check."

Now it was Elizabeta's turn to get flustered.

"Well I only do it so I can get good results on camera." Elizabeta said, cheekily.

"I've heard about your … extensive collection. D-do you happen to have any with you?" Natalya asked shyly, as if embarrassed to be asking something like this.

"Oh my god, are you into this stuff too?" Her feet hit the carpeted floor as she walked over and opened the double-doors of the closet. Elizabeta flipped open the cover on the nearby thermostat and turned the dial a couple of times, similar to a combination lock. A small click sounded and the boxes stacked neatly at the back of the closet shifted apart, revealing another room behind it.

"Whoa. What the fuck is that?" A wide-eyed Natalya asked half-walking and half being dragged by Elizabeta.

"You asked to see my collection, here it is!" Elizabeta gestured proudly to the cozy space. Mounted screens adorned an entire wall, with two worn sofas facing them. A broad, sagging bookshelf holding almost hundreds of recordable material stood by the corner. At the bottom were the VCR tapes, followed by a shelf of floppy disks, then CDs and more recently, near the top were a basket of flash drives. Each and every one was carefully labeled and dated.

"It's amazing how technology much has changed hasn't it? Now I can store so many more pictures and videos on these tiny USB keys!" Elizabeta chirped happily, patting the spot next to her on the couch. "Sit down here and tell me which pairing you want to see. I have almost everyone."

"Hmm I don't think I've seen any action going on between those two Nordics, what were they called again?"

"Denmark and Norway, or Sweden and Finland?"

"Hmm, how about … both."

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

After the initial unfamiliarity, Lovino and Matthew got along swimmingly. They were chatting and walking down the hall towards the open deck of the ship when Lovino heard a familiar voice drifting down the hall.

_Tomato bastard. _

He put a hand over Matthew's mouth, silencing him and dragged him into the closest room, which happened to be a supply closet. He left the door open, just a tiny crack so that they could still see what was going on out there.

"Are you sure his room is this way?" It was Matthew's brother's voice. The loud and brash American.

_Why were those two together? _Lovino was most definitely not jealous.

"Yeah, I'm sure I saw a tomato sign somewhere around here." Antonio replied, body swinging into view.

Through the slight gap in the doorway, the hidden nations could make out the two figures strolling through the hallway. As they disappeared around the corner, Lovino took his hand off of Matthew's face and opened the door discreetly, making sure no noise would attract anyone's attention.

"What was that about?" Matthew asked, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"Ahh I just wanted to avoid that fucking tomato freak." Lovino said, staring intently at the faint floral wallpaper. "He assaults me with hugs and shit every time he sees me."

"Hmm." With this, the Canadian nation realized that he still had a lot to find out about his new roommate.

* * *

Before anyone knew it, the sun was setting and it was dinnertime. All the nations assembled in the dining hall, settled into round tables of five or six. Elizabeta had decorated the hall to give it a warm, restaurant-like feeling, complete with a glittering central chandelier, tall candles and fancy flower arrangements. Light chatter drifted up to the ceiling, where rounded skylights protruded, allowing the late afternoon light to flitter in. A stage stood at the end of the large room, covered with a heavy red velvet curtain.

Elizabeta went up to the elevated podium and tapped gently on the microphone. A harsh screech blasted though the speakers and all nations winced, turning to the source of the noise.

"Oops, sorry." Elizabeta grinned apologetically. "Alright, here's tonight's plan; during dinner, we'll have a few entertaining acts followed by a night downstairs at the ship's nightclub and bar-"

Loud cheers erupted at the prospect of partying and alcohol but were quickly silenced by Elizabeta's microphone.

"But for now, enjoy the full course meal prepared by a few of your own fellow nations."

As the Hungarian was the event planner, she had to keep in mind the whole point of the trip; it was for everyone to get along. So she thought that maybe if everyone sampled each other's cooking, they would learn to appreciate each other more.

"Everyone will have a cooking shift throughout the cruise portion of our trip." Then Elizabeta added. "Expect for England. We don't want any food poisoning cases or on-board deaths."

"My cooking is perfectly fine; the lot of you just don't appreciate gourmet food." Arthur huffed from his table.

"Awh don't worry." Alfred reached over the table and poked Arthur on the cheek, Arthur's eyes widened and blushed from the unexpected contact. "I'll eat it!"

"Only your sense of taste has been destroyed enough to stomach that _merde_." Francis mumbled as he passed by with his trolley.

Elizabeta went over the kitchen staff; Belarus, Finland and Sweden were preparing a variety of appetizers and desserts. While France and Japan were pushing trolleys ladled with food from the kitchen to the hungry nations. In the kitchen; Italy, China and Ukraine were working hard to dish out food, knives flying and stove tops burning.

Since the nations in the kitchen were the best at preparing food from their own country, that's exactly what they did. Italy had, of course, made enough pasta to drown the world's fish. China had brought along his trusty wok and was making savoury servings of fried rice. On the other hand, Ukraine was creating _borscht_, a deliciously thick and rich soup.

In between the three main dishes, tiny platters of crème brûlée, pastry puffs, jello cubes and mini chocolate drizzled croissants were being passed around to keep the nations from starving, as none of them had had any food since they boarded the ship in the morning.

Elizabeta had to pry a certain Austrian nation from his beloved _sacher torte_ in order to get him to start the first act of the night.

It had been a humongous hassle to get a grand piano onto their cruise ship, but Roderich insisted. Smiling as he ran his hands over the ivory keys, Roderich was in his comfort zone. He alternately played lively music and smooth, mellow jazz along with a classical piece or two. Beautifully crisp and clear notes sang through the hall, capturing the ears of each and every nation in the room.

Everyone ate in an awed silence, whispering occasionally, and waited for the final song, which had been a composition by the pianist himself.

Thunderous applause sounded the moment the final chords were played. Shuffling sounded from behind the curtain as Austria bowed graciously to his audience.

The lights dimmed and the curtains were whisked apart, to reveal three silhouetted figures, each underneath a spotlight.

Elizabeta jumped back onto the podium. "I give you, an …" She squinted down at her queue card, where someone had inserted the word 'awesome' everywhere. "An awesome band formed by three of your own, the… ever awesome BTT!"

Coloured lights danced across the stage and settled on the nations in the middle. Lighting up one by one, they revealed France sitting at a shining drum kit and Prussia and Spain with flashy electric guitars behind their microphone stands.

Gilbert grinned wildly at the audience. "Here's a song dedicated to my awesome Canadian friend, written by a familiar Canadian singer."

All the nations looked around for the Canadian nation, but with most of their eyes skipping right over the man. Matthew tried to sink lower into his seat, not used to all the attention.

"Here we go! Francis, hit it!"

Francis started off with a strong catchy beat, with Antonio quickly following up with a couple of chords on the guitar. Gilbert assumed the lead vocal, gently cradling the microphone stand. His rich tenor voice spilled out, eyes closed in concentration.

_Why does he have to be so hot? _

The Canadian nation wanted to slap himself for that first thought that flashed through his mind.

As the Bad Touch Trio jammed out to the song, with their own added drum solos and guitar riffs, the nations below the stage had cleared the chairs and tables, and were swaying to the rhythmic beats.

Matthew had been nudged by the surrounding nations to the centre of their makeshift dance floor, staring down at his feet, with strange feelings bubbling up inside of him. His roommate, Lovino had been lost in the crowd. Though he had a very strong desire to march up onstage and choke his self-proclaimed Prussian friend senseless, Matthew also felt giddy and happy that someone would dedicate a song to him. And they even made sure he knew both the song and singer. He smiled when he finally looked up, his own violet eyes meeting bright crimson ones.

"Ooh, I just haven't met you yet." Gilbert sung the last phrase slowly, still staring Matthew down with his intent gaze.

The audience erupted into applause, with a whistle or encore or two, while the band members onstage bowed with wide smiles and slightly flushed faces.

Gilbert bounded offstage, without even bothering with the stairs.

"Wasn't that awesome Mattie?" He asked, still grinning and still high off the adrenaline rush.

"It was." The Canadian nation smiled too, his smile was contagious. Or maybe that was just the effect Gilbert had on him. "What made you think of something as 'awesome' as this?"

"Oh, I don't know, just thought I would do something special for you." The Prussian waved his hand airily.

"So why this song? Did you realize what the lyrics-"

"Contrary to the lyrics, I think I've already met my special person."

Gilbert smiled and shook his head dismissing whatever Matthew was going to say next.

* * *

Romano did not like crowds. He did not like people either, despite his country being full of overly-happy and friendly chatterboxes. That's why when everyone was on the "dance floor", he elected to sit by himself at the side, out of reach of the frenzied nations. Lovino did feel a bit guilty leaving Canada to be whisked away, but he just couldn't stand places like these.

But that doesn't mean he couldn't hear the band onstage. Oh, he could hear them perfectly well. Lovino shared just a bit of his brother's musical talent. He could hear every chord and every roll. He could hear the distinct sound of that annoying potato bastard #2's voice. Most importantly, Romano could hear Spain's voice. Though he was singing the backup vocals, his voice was as clear as ever. Lovino could hear his quiet echoes, soft and mellow.

All too soon, the song had ended and Bad Touch Trio left the spotlight.

In no time, Spain had found his little Lovi sitting all by himself, looking neglected and just a bit sad as he stared off at a blank wall.

"Lovi~ did you like my singing?"

"No." The South Italian nation crossed his arms over his chest glared at him. "But how could I not hear your irritating voice?"

_How could I not hear your beautiful voice?_

"But you _were _listening." Spain sat next to him. A pause. "Romano, do you hate me?"

Romano sputtered; Spain was doing his usual hey-try-let's-make-Lovino-almost-admit-he-likes-me thing. He couldn't answer 'yes', and yet he couldn't answer 'no'. Lovino suspected that behind Spain's care-free and oblivious demeanor, he was actually a somewhat smart guy. How else could've Spain have been such a good pirate back in the day? Romano's mind almost drifted off, back into the days where Spain was at the height of his power, sailing the seven seas with the warm breeze that ruffled his dark brown hair just so. The bright sunlight out at sea always made Spain's emerald eyes glitter a bit brighter. Lovino blinked to bring himself back.

"Romano, do you hate me?" Spain repeated again.

_No. I don't. I never have. _

"I don't know." Romano replied, refusing to look at his former guardian. "You gotta find out."

Before Spain could ask anymore, the other two idiots that made up the BTT each grabbed one of Antonio's arms and dragged him off.

"We're off to get mind-blowingly wasted!" Prussia announced loudly, as they descended to the ships' lowest level. Several nations cheered and followed, such as Denmark and America.

Romano felt Spain's eyes trained on him, up until he disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

The ship's bar was clean, and modern, with a minimalistic edge. It snaked along the length of the ship, so it was possible to accommodate all the nations. There was an actual dance floor a bit farther from the stairs, completely up-to-date and new. Instead of having large pot-lights like the rest of the ship, the club had colourful, flashing spot-lights hanging from the ceiling.

"How is this drinking thing going to go down?" Alfred asked excitedly, already perched up on a bar stool. He'd seen England drunk plenty of times before but he had never seen how far his limit could go.

"Ah _mon am_i, you seem to be new to this. Let me explain." Francis seemed a bit tipsy already.

_So he was the one who stole two tables worth of champagne._ Alfred thought.

"_Alors_, what you have to do is-"

"Just drink as much as you can, we'll be the judges." Gilbert cut in.

* * *

"Er, Arthur … I think you've had enough." Alfred gently pried the nth shot away from his fingers.

"Nohhhnsensh!" He tried to snatch back his cup but almost face planted if it weren't for Alfred's strong arms there to hold him up. "Ah can drink so muckh mooor! Let meh go!"

"Nope, that's definitely enough for you tonight."

"Yah bloody git!" Arthur's futile attempts at escape only resulted in Alfred hugging him to his chest.

Prussia, one of the "awesomely esteemed judges" had already passed out, curled up on a tabletop. Francis was so drunk, that when he walked across the dance floor, he won a dance trophy. His roommate Spain seemed the soberest out of all of them, as he sat by himself surrounded by empty bottles with a somber expression, his empty gaze resting on cup of liquor in his hands.

The super cheerful, happy-go-lucky Spain was … sad? Alfred didn't understand. He didn't have time to think about it either, because the restless English nation in his arms had managed to wriggle out of his hold and was inching towards a promising bottle of scotch sitting on the counter.

"Ok Arthur, let's get you back to your room." Alfred hoisted Arthur up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"H-hey!" Arthur hit his back with but in his weakened, alcohol induced state, Alfred felt close to nothing. It might as well have been just a squirrel.

They reached Arthur and Prussia's shared room and Alfred turned to get their room key. But seeing the sly grin on the Briton's face, he knew it wouldn't be easy.

"Guesh where I put deh key?" Arthur waggled his eyebrows.

"Just pass it over here, _Iggy_." Alfred put a special emphasis on Arthur's much hated nickname.

Arthur pursed his lips, fighting the urge to retaliate to the name calling, but with alcohol messing his thoughts, he just couldn't think straight.

"You'll hafta a pay a price." Arthur fished his key-card out of his back pocket, dangling it in the air in front of Alfred's nose.

The American in front of him sighed.

"Okay fine. But promise me that you'll right to bed and get a good night's sleep. We're probably going to dock tomorrow afternoon and I don't want you with a massive hangover then."

"Shure, I will. So, about that price."

"You name it."

"Kiss me."

_What._

Alfred knew that Arthur did some really crazy shit when intoxicated but he knew that someone like Arthur would never do anything like _this_.

"I know you want to."

Alfred blushed, had it been that obvious? Looking at Arthur's flushed cheeks and messy blonde hair did tempt him. And Arthur was right, he did want to …

_What am I saying? It would be taking advantage of him. He's out-of-his-mind drunk right now. No. It wouldn't be right. _

Alfred knew that deep down; he would come to greatly regret it.

"I-I'm sorry Arthur, I c-can't." Alfred whispered. He took the key card and swiftly opened the door. Not once looking at Arthur.

"Goodnight, Arthur."

The English nation watched as Alfred stuck his hands in his pockets and walked down the hallway. Eyes fixed on the retreating nation's back.

"Goodnight, Alfred." He said, so softly that even he, himself, wondered if he had actually spoken those words.

* * *

**Heyaa ~ **

**I am terribly sorry for the late update D: I'll try to speed things up next time ^^**

**'Tuponia' was indeed on the list for Canada's possible names. I'm so glad that it's called CANADA. .**

**I'm not quite sure on this matter but there is a pretty small difference between 'kuudere' and 'dandere', thought I'm not sure what. Bonus points to whoever can tell me? ^^''**

**"Only your sense of taste has been destroyed enough to stomach that _merde_." [****merde = French for "shit"]**

**(The song that Gilbert sang was "Haven't Met You Yet" by Canadian singer Michael Bublé.)**

**Please feel free to leave suggestions or constructive criticism as that would really help me!**

**Cya next time!**


	3. Chapter 3: Nightingale

Chapter 3 - Nightingale

_Previous chapter:_

The English nation watched as Alfred stuck his hands in his pockets and walked down the hallway. Eyes fixed on the retreating nation's back.

"Goodnight, Alfred." He said, so softly that even he, himself, wondered if he had actually spoken those words.

* * *

Alfred was right.

Arthur did in fact wake up with a massive hangover. He groaned as he turned to other side of the bed. It felt like his eyes had been glued together and someone had encased his limbs in lead. He groaned again as someone whisked open the curtains, allowing light to pierce his eyes painfully.

"Ugh shut the damn blinds."

"Kesesese get up sleepy head! It's 6am already!"

"ITS ONLY SIX AM? AS IN, SIX AM IN THE FUCKING MORNING?! Why in the bloody hell did you wake me up so early?" Arthur managed to crack open one eye, but quickly shut it as he saw a Prussian-shaped, pajama-clad shadow standing over him.

"Come on, it's time for breakfast, I heard that there's this awesome event right afterwards. I wanna go see it."

"You can go by yourself, I'll be keeping my bed warm for the next five hours or so." Arthur grumbled into his pillow.

Arthur thought he was safe when Gilbert left his line of vision. But he could have never been so wrong. Freezing water ran down his hair and back, shocking him into stunned silence as he abruptly sat up.

"Kesesese you should've seen your face!" Gilbert was rolling on the ground in a laughing fit.

The English nation wasn't going to get pushed around like this. He picked up the cup of water sitting on his bedside table and flung it right in Gilbert's face, soaking his hair and the front of his thin shirt.

"Ha take that you twat! I didn't think I've seen a German that surprised ever since the Allies took Berlin in '45!"

"Hey!" Gilbert shouted, obviously insulted. "You weren't even there! That was all Russia's work!"

Now that they were both awake and alert, much to Arthur's dismay, he realized that he couldn't remember anything that happened last night. All he could recall was dinner and the fairly entertaining acts. But afterwards … they had gone to … the bar?

"Hey, Gilbert." The Prussian on the carpeted floor looked up. "What happened last night?"

"I uh, drank through the _whole night_, yes, and I didn't see you anywhere so I dunno."

Arthur somehow really doubted that. Well if Prussia wasn't going to tell him, he would have to find someone who will.

_Now, who else was there? _He thought carefully.

That French frog was there … That super tall Nordic with the spiky hair … His unspoken-of-archenemy Spain was there … A scary, sunflower-loving Russian was there … And a certain blue-eyed, blonde nation had been there too.

_Oh my god. Alfred. _

Brief moments of the night suddenly hit him; Arthur being tightly pressed to Alfred's chest, Alfred walking him to his room, the room key.

Arthur's eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. He couldn't seem to remember what happened after _that_.

"Take a shower and get changed. I don't wanna be late for food time number one- I mean, breakfast."

* * *

"Whale watching? Who the fuck enjoys looking at fat blubbery animals swim around in the ocean?" Romano complained as he was retrieving his straw fedora from his suitcase.

"Well it beats sitting in our room for the whole morning. Besides, we're serving breakfast today. We'll have to go anyways." Canada tried to convince him.

"Hmph. Fine."

They walked up onto the upper deck, which was a wide, open-air terrace, and were met with the early morning sunshine and fresh ocean scents.

"Whoa the weather is surprisingly nice. Better than it was back in fucking gloomy England." Romano commented, shielding his eyes and looking up towards the wispy, thin clouds.

"Yeah, we're getting closer to our destination." Matthew looked up, too.

The sound of heels clicking against the patterned, vinyl tiles drew their attention from the sky.

"Good morning!" Elizabeta greeted, tying her auburn hair back into a messy bun. "Beautiful day for whale watching, isn't it? Our radar picked up a large pod of them crossing our route a bit later on during the morning."

"Great." Romano drawled sarcastically.

"Start getting the tables set up for breakfast, the others should be coming out soon." Elizabeta ordered.

* * *

"Bring me some of your awesomely awesome pancakes of awesome, Mattie!" Gilbert shouted across the distance of multiple tables.

"Don't be so fucking disrespectful, you ass!" Romano shouted back, while Matthew smiled weakly.

Today's meal crew consisted of Romano and Norway as waiters, and Matthew and Germany attending the little out-door kitchen. Norway was a silent, broody man. He silently tied his white apron on his back, he silently waited on all the nations, silently bringing food from the chefs to the tables and the only thing he did not do silently was "accidentally" hit Denmark over the head with his serving tray every time he passed the Nordic table. But Romano on the other hand, was possibly the worst possible waiter of all time. He purposely screwed up people's orders and filled water cups right to the brim. And as he was naturally a bit clumsy, no one could tell whether he was purposely knocking things over or not. Naturally, Romano used this to his advantage.

"Ve~! What's that over there?!" Feliciano's surprised yelp drew everyone's attention to a disturbance near the surface of the water a couple meters away from their ship.

"It's the orca whale pod!" Hungary exclaimed.

Meal quickly put aside, the nations crowded around the railing to get a better view of the whales. Their distinct black and while colourings and large dorsal fins could be clearly seen through the waves. Multiple nations cheered and clapped as a few of the smaller whales jumped out of the water, putting on a magnificent show.

Romano hung back, away from the railing.

"You don't want to see the whales?" Matthew asked, coming to stand next to him, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Ugh no." Romano sniffed. "Well, actually … they scare me a bit … they're not called killer-fucking-whales for no reason. But don't you dare telling anyone!"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't." Matthew reassured him with a small smile. "Are you sure you don't want to see the whales, though? I don't think you can find them at your pla-"

Both nations lurched forward, the floor beneath them trembled with the aftershock of a sudden quake.

"Everyone away from the railing!" Elizabeta yelled, as she ran past on her way to the control room. "One of the larger whales bumped into our ship, they're encircling us. We're going to have to cut the engines so we don't hurt any of them."

Everyone crowded as close to the center as possible, fearing the chance of being thrown into the ocean, into the large mass of whales. Matthew had been separated from Lovino again, through the panic and hastiness. Though orcas were not known to eat humans, one could never be too careful.

A brisk gale swept across the silent deck, picking up stray napkins, dust and dirt. Among the things the wind brought away, Romano's light straw-woven hat was one of them.

"Ah, fuck." Romano glared at his air-born fedora. "Come back here you little shit." He jumped upward to grab it but the wind whisked it out of his grasp just in time, as if playing with him. The teasing breeze brought him farther and farther away from the safety of his fellow nations.

"Romano! Come back!" Someone shouted. Romano chose to ignore their warning.

"Aha! I got you!" Romano jumped onto the first rung on the railing with one hand and snatched his hat with his other. But the wind still seemed to have a grip on his hat, as it pulled him farther outwards. Before he knew it, the sights of churning blue waves and gaping jaws full of sharp teeth were rushing towards him at an alarming rate.

"Romano!" He heard someone shout again.

Romano hit the surface gracelessly and began to sink immediately. The salt water stung his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. He kicked his legs towards the mirror-like surface but to no avail. It was getting farther away from him with every kick. Romano reached out to grab something, anything at all, but the only air bubbles from his own lungs slipped through his fingers.

"Romano!" He heard that voice again. Romano knew exactly who it was.

_It sounds closer … no, farther … I can't tell anymore. _

The lack of oxygen was starting to take its toll. Romano could no longer find the energy to kick and attempt to swim. His vision began to darken, getting blurrier by the second.

_I feel so … sleepy. I'll just … close my eyes … for bit. _

"Romano!" The voice sounded so far away that Romano wondered if it was real or just his imagination playing tricks on him.

_Antonio, you bastard ... there is still … still so much I have to tell you. Antonio. Spain. Mio … amore._

* * *

"Man overboard! It's South Italy!" Germany shouted. "What do we do?"

The nations were flung into a state of panic even greater than before. They all started to rush around, with no particular destination, nor objective in mind.

"I'm the hero! I'll save him!" America cried over the ruckus, pulling off his shirt. England sputtered indignantly at the sight of smooth, sun-kissed skin. But someone had already jumped over the railing and off the deck, beating him to it.

Spain didn't even bother with his clothes, simply kicking off his shoes and dived straight into the ocean after Romano.

Antonio's sight had never been clearer, with a single goal in mind. The noise of the nations was gone immediately after he went under, replaced by an eerie silence.

_Romano._

The silence was suffocating; all he could hear were his own frantic heartbeats. He looked around, past the slick bodies of the killer whales. Tiny air bubbles brushed past his cheeks, air that didn't belong to him. Spain looked downwards, and caught sight of Romano's thin hand just as it melted into the darkness. He propelled himself in that direction, faster than before.

_Romano. _

One final kick and Spain saw Romano slowly sinking into the sea itself. His eyes were already closed. Not wasting a single second, Antonio took him in, bridal position, and swam towards the surface world as quick as he could.

_Romano. _

Spain climbed up the ladder the nations had dropped down and hoisted himself onto the deck. He gently laid Romano flat on his back, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes as he did so. Hungary appeared with a warm blanket while the other nations had only their frozen, horrified faces. Antonio ignored them and set right to work.

He pinched Romano's nose and lowered his chin, leaving his mouth slightly parted. The nations around him averted their eyes as Spain brought his mouth down onto Romano's, filling his lungs with air. He did it once more, and then moved on to pressing his hands on his chest repeatedly, which resulted in water burbling out of Romano's mouth. Spain repeated the same procedure countless times, begging Romano to wake up.

Again and again, Antonio helped Lovino take artificial breaths. Each time, the water coming out diminished in quantity. But Romano still wouldn't wake up.

"H-hey." Antonio felt a large hand on his shoulder, and looked into a pair of blue eyes full of pity. "It's been almost half an hour, I don't think he's going to-

"No!" Spain lashed out. "No. Stop it. Romano is going to live. Don't any of you even dare think about it!"

The nations took a collective step back, no one had seen an angry Spain since the early 1600s. Spain's green eyes were bright with rage and maybe just a twinge of fear, the growing fear of _what if_.

Somewhere in the midst of the huddled nations, Matthew had completed collapsed in on himself. Sitting and rocking gently on the ground and leaning on the railing, tears were slowly rolling down his face, tears that Matthew himself was unaware of. He whispered the same line over and over again.

"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all-"

"Get yourself together!" Gilbert snatched both of his wrists, forcing Matthew to look upwards. Gilbert's worried eyes searched his friends' watery and violet pair and something within him felt exactly what Matthew was feeling. Gilbert felt Matthew's frustration and anger towards their fellow nations, for not being to save Romano. He felt Matthew's feeling of self-hatred, for not being able to do anything either. Matthew's thoughts were a mess, clashing together inside his mind, unable to think straight through the one solid sentence blocking out everything else.

_It's all my fault._

The younger nation wriggled his arms out of Gilbert's grasp and hugged his knees tight to his chest. Gilbert's gaze softened as he sat down next to his friend, putting a comforting arm around him. Matthew looked up at him, bottom lip trembling. Then the waterworks finally erupted as he choked out sobs into Gilbert's shoulder.

"I-I don't know w-what t-to do." Matthew said in between sniffles.

"It's alright." Gilbert reassured while gently rubbing comforting circles on Matthew's back. "Let's get your mind off of this. I am absolutely sure Romano will be fine. He's got my buddy Spain looking after him, Antonio would never let him leave." The silver-haired man stood up, brushing dust off his pants and reached a hand down at Matthew. "Here, come on, I got something to show you."

* * *

"Die! And stay dead!" Matthew yelled at the screen as his controlled hands worked the buttons and joystick of the console.

Beside him, Gilbert was doing the same, although not quite as good as Matthew.

"Aw crap. I died again." Gilbert muttered, shoving another token into the machine.

The two of them stood in the ship's arcade, playing a two-person shooter game. Matthew had been surprisingly very good at it, later admitting that he and Alfred played all the time. Mainly to decided who would make dinner or wash the dishes when they were over at each other's places.

They paused the game and sat down on at a nearby table, completely winded. Matthew chugged half a bottle of water and handed it to Gilbert, who finished it off.

"Would Canada please come down to the nurse's office? That would be Ca-na-da." Hungary's voice broadcasted through the intercom, echoing through the quiet arcade.

Both nations shared a wide-eyed look and dashed out of the room, heading straight for the nurse's office.

* * *

The last thing Romano remembered was blue. A dark, terrifying blue, closing up all around him, eating him whole. The first thing Romano saw when he opened his eyes was a bright vibrant green. A shade of green he would recognize anytime, anywhere.

"What happened?" He sat up abruptly, and immediately regretted it, as he triggered a brain-numbing headache.

"Shh Lovi, you're safe now." Spain gently laid him down on the sanitizer-scented sheets. "It's okay. You need to rest."

"What happened?" He repeated. "You didn't answer my question."

Spain looked away and whispered. "You almost left."

Romano's mouth formed a little o and he looked away too.

_I had almost … died?_

"But how am I still here?"

"Oh, we saved you."

"We?"

"Just us, you know." The Spaniard seemed a bit distant.

"Spain, you bastard! What aren't you telling me?" Romano sat up, despite his massive headache and sore limbs. Spain turned away even more, now with his back facing Romano.

_Why does he seem so far away?_

They sat in silence for what seemed like forever.

"H-hey A-ant-tonio." Romano tugged on Spain's shirt gently, face flushed red. "I-I'm sorry." He said quietly, head hanging low.

"Hey, it's alright, it's not your fault." Spain looked up in surprise.

"It is. If I hadn't fallen in the sea," Romano shuddered a bit at the memory. "You guys wouldn't have had to go through all that trouble to rescue me. I made you all worry. It's my fault."

"Roma. Listen to me. If you think this is your fault, it isn't, alright?"

"Then why do you look so upset?"

Spain faltered, and looked past his shoulder briefly before turning away again.

"You almost left me, Lovi. Do you know how worried I was? What would I do without you? You're so important to me, I don't-"

He was cut off as Romano flung his arms around him and hugged his back tightly. Spain felt little drops of water soaking through his thin shirt and realized that Romano was crying.

Spain gently turned around wrapping his own arms around the smaller nation, ready to comfort him but was shocked to see that they were happy tears, tears of joy.

Romano was smiling. He was really smiling. Spain loved that smile of his, it was so beautiful and rare, showing itself at the least unexpected times.

"I don't know what I'd do without you either, bastardo." Romano whispered into his ear, a faint blush still dotted his cheeks.

They finally pulled apart, and Romano realized that he could see Spain so clearly, even through his teary eyes. All the little details, like his wavy and still damp hair, his slight dimples that came with his constant smile and one of the features he loved about Spain the most.

His eyes.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Romano had to disagree, as Spain's eyes were so much more than that. They held so much emotion and reflected Antonio at his core. Just one glance from them was enough to make Romano stop whatever he was doing, just to stare back.

His shining, vibrant emerald eyes.

They were an ocean that Romano wouldn't mind falling into.

Spain gently cupped his cheek with one hand and brought him closer with his other arm. Normally, Romano would've done anything to avoid contact, but he didn't care. Not here, not now.

Spain came closer and closer until Romano could smell the faint scent of churros and seawater.

_Seawater?_ The brief thought crossed his mind but was quickly pushed aside as Spain's fingers brushed teasingly past his curl. Spain rested his forehead on Romano's, sending shivers running down his spine. Romano reached upwards to put his hands over Spain's shoulders.

"Lovi." Antonio breathed. "Promise me you'll never leave."

"I promise."

"People do that 'pinky-promise' thing nowadays, right?"

"Yeah."

"I think we can do much better than that." Spain smiled and leaned in. Romano felt his cheeks warm up again as his eyes fluttered close.

Spain's mouth came closer and closer when the door was practically kicked off its hinges.

"We've arrived."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**This chapter is named after Florence Nightingale, as she was a celebrated English social reformer and the founder of modern nursing. She tended to wounded soldiers during the Crimean War viewed as a hero. I thought that Spain was Romano's "Florence Nightingale" in this chapter ;)**

**The Soviet Union did in fact capture Berlin during the Battle of Berlin in World War II.**

**Propeller blades on boats/ships are one of the main reasons that marine animals are injured or even killed, so that's why they cut the engines on their cruise ship.**

**Spain's CPR procedure should be the most standard, if I remember correctly from my own life-saving swim lessons. Though I probably wouldn't be able to do shit if someone actually needed CPR.**

**Spain's pirate days lasted into the 1600s, even after the defeat of the Spanish Armada. (LOL 1588)**

**I deeply apologize for the late update as lots of shit went down these past two weeks. I'll try to update faster but oh look, exam season is around the corner! T^T Sorry guys. **

**Please feel free to add suggestions or criticism! **

**Cya next time! ^^**


	4. Chapter 4: White Sands

Chapter 4 - White Sands

_Previous chapter:_

"Lovi." Antonio breathed. "Promise me you'll never leave."

"I promise."

"People do that 'pinky-promise' thing nowadays, right?"

"Yeah."

"I think we can do much better than that." Spain smiled and leaned in. Romano felt his cheeks warm up again as his eyes fluttered close.

Spain's mouth came closer and closer when the door was practically kicked off its hinges.

"We've arrived."

* * *

_Are you serious?_

Spain frowned disapprovingly at the door leaning crookedly against the wall, then at his Prussian friend standing in the empty doorway. Romano's eyes widened and scrambled as far away from Spain as he possibly could on the small bed. Their rare moment had been broken. Broken by certain annoying Prussian with horrible timing.

"Whoa." Prussia pointed at Spain with one hand, then Romano with the other. Seeing as they were both unusually quiet and with flushed faces, he came to realize something. "Did I interrupt anything?"

Romano hadn't quite recovered from what had just happened. Or what had _almost_ happened. His normally sharp tongue was twisted and his heart beat was still racing. Instead of attacking the Prussian both verbally and physically like he would always do, Romano grabbed his pillow and hugged it close to his chest, attempting to hide himself into it.

"And what's this? Romano, not having a sarcastic comment?" Prussia imitated a mock gasp. "Cat got your tongue?" He threw his head back and laughed obnoxiously at his own terrible joke. "Hey Romano, you actually are kinda like a cat. You hiss at pretty much everything. Plus, Spain really likes-"

Gilbert's next words were lodged in his throat as flashes of metal glinted through the air and four daggers sprouted from the wall right next to his head.

"Oh crap." Prussia's mouth silently formed these words as he slowly turned around towards the direction of whoever threw the knives.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. What in the goddamn fuck do you think you're doing?" Hungary's voice, icy cold, cut in menacingly. She stepped into the room holding four more throwing knives.

Prussia gulped visibly. "Er, I was just on my way owww." Elizabeta grabbed him roughly by the ear and dragged him out the door, with his muffled protests about frying pans and scary Belarusians being brought farther and farther away.

Just as Romano thought they'd be left to their awkward and uncomfortable silence, another familiar face appeared in the doorway.

"You're okay!" Matthew breathed in relief and came over to sit on the bed beside Romano.

"Hey Matthew." Romano greeted. "How did you know I woke up?"

"Oh, Ms. Héderváry called me down."

"Then how did Hungary know I woke up …?" Romano's voice trailed off as he suddenly remembered Hungary's strange … obsession.

_Oh god._

He scrambled out of the creaky bed and checked all her favourite hidden camera locations. In the vase of flowers? Yup. Between the books on the shelf? Yes. Disguised as a picture frame ornament? The classic.

_Well isn't that just fucking peachy. _

Hungary came back, a bit breathless. "I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?"

Romano glanced at Matthew, still unable to look properly at Antonio. "I'll take the good news first, I guess."

"Gilbert," She shook her head in disappointment. "Has probably already told you, but we've arrived in Montego Bay, so we should be docking in a couple of minutes or so."

Romano nodded, and then grimaced. "Then what about the bad news?"

"Your lungs are waterlogged, there's still water in there. The most common drowning cases don't happen in the water, but at night when the victim goes to sleep. They literally drown on land." Elizabeta explained. "You are a nation and all, but it's best that we don't take any risks. So I want you to stay awake until we can get a doctor to have you checked."

"Does that mean …" Romano dreaded her next words.

"No siestas." Elizabeta finished, nodding.

Siestas and tomatoes were two of Lovino's three favourite things in the world. He took at least two or three siestas a day, being the lazy Italian he was. Someone was going to have to watch over him and make sure he didn't take a single nap.

"Find someone who'd be willing to look after you, just for today." Elizabeta instructed over her shoulder as she walked out. "Pack up your things, we're getting off the ship soon."

* * *

"Whoa! Look at all these humongo plants!" Gilbert ran ahead and spun around, taking in the large expanse of lush green vegetation that surrounded the resort. Towering palm trees and flowering plants blended together to create a picturesque backdrop to their resort. The moment the cruise ship had officially docked in the cruise line terminal in Montego Bay, Jamaica, everyone could feel the warm hospitality of the island. Just steps from the sea, the Sandals Montego Bay resort had everything, including eight world-class restaurants, tropical forests and ocean-front pools. Not to mention crystal-clear turquoise waters as far as the eye can see and stretches of white sand that ran for miles along the coast.

"There's a lot more to this place than just 'humongo plants', mon ami." Francis clucked disapprovingly at his friend's lack of a decent vocabulary and a brain. "Montego Bay derived its name from the Spanish word _manteca_ back when Antonio was in charge of little Jamaica as one of his colonies."

"Doesn't _manteca_ mean 'turd' or something"? Gilbert asked, bewildered. "Why would they name a place as awesome as this after poop?"

"_Non_ _Prusse_," France sighed at the Prussian's incompetence once again. "It means 'lard', a culinary essential. This was a popular port for exporting lard, leather and beef back in the day."

"I swear it meant 'turd'."

"Francis is right, actually." Elizabeta caught up to them, pulling ahead of the rest of the nations.

"Ah _mademoiselle_ Hungary, would you mind telling us of today's _activité_s?"

"We'll only be able to visit one location today because I don't want anyone to be too tired or worn out. We're going to Rose Hall, it's a Georgian mansion built sometime in the 1770s. It has a very European feel to it so most of the nations won't feel too homesick."

"You are ever so thoughtful." Francis mused.

_You wouldn't think so if you saw my collection. _She smiled.

France mistook her small smile as 'thank you' for his compliment.

Hungary picked up her pace. "I need to sign us into the hotel and get the room keys and everything. Could you tell everyone where we're going? I really appreciate it!" She effortlessly sprung into a quick sprint.

_If I remember correctly, wasn't Rose Hall supposedly … haunted?_ France's meticulously plucked brows furrowed together in thought.

* * *

"What do you mean the … 'W-white Witch' wanders around h-here?" Alfred took a few steps backwards.

They had arrived at Rose Hall by bus within fifteen minutes and were now looking up at the manor. Its lower stone base was partly shaded by leafy trees while its plastered upper storey soaked in the sun's rays. Rose Hall stood at the top of a hillside, allowing a beautiful panoramic view of the coast. The same gentle breeze that greeted the nations when they first arrived had followed them, rustling lightly through the greenery.

The nations were gathered in a circular stone courtyard, with a low flight of stairs leading straight into the house. On both sides of the steps, neatly trimmed hedges adorned with flourishing exotic flowers created a welcoming invitation.

But Alfred didn't think so, as he refused to take another step closer to the building.

"Oh, man up. Tell you what, my awesomeness repels unawesome things. I bet that so-called 'White Witch' wouldn't dare show herself with the awesome me here." Gilbert nudged Alfred in the ribs in a sad attempt to reassure the American as he passed by with the rest of their fellow nations.

Alfred still would not budge and chose instead to stubbornly glare up at the house.

_Stupid house. Geez. I was supposed to spend more time with Arthur but this dumb house is in the way. _He pouted childishly.

The American nation had awful habit of blaming something or someone else for his own problems. He was too proud to fix his problems and so he took it out on the nearest thing in his proximity. This time, it was the building in front of him.

His fear of ghosts and anything vaguely supernatural could be very difficult to deal with, as he was a bit of a masochist when it came to these kinds of things. Alfred was terrified of scary things, and yet he constantly asked Japan for his horror movies and read countless tales about the creatures that roam the night in a sad attempt to prove that, he, the 'great hero', was not afraid.

Most of the nations were already entering the manor, leaving him all by himself in the courtyard. And though it was nearly 40 degrees, Alfred elected to wear his bomber jacket. It made him feel safe and secure, just feeling the worn fabric on his skin calmed him a great deal. Somehow, it always carried a comforting scent, even after multiple cycles in the wash, giving him a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. Reminding him of when he lived with England, as his colony.

Alfred sighed as he watched the last nation disappear into the house. He could recognize that head of dirty blonde hair anywhere.

The leaves behind Alfred rustled loudly, making him yelp and jump forward in surprise.

_O-oh my g-god. _

Alfred's eyes searched through the foliage, looking for the cause of the sound, looking for a reason to be not afraid.

_An a-animal, perhaps?_

_O-or maybe a b-breez-ze?_

The bush shook again and this time, Alfred was painfully aware of the fact that it wasn't just the wind.

* * *

"What do you mean it's just a lie?!" England whispered loudly, grabbing the French nation by his precious hair. That man spent more money on hair products than his food. Both of which, were ridiculously priced, if you asked any humble Englishman.

The nations were climbing the steep mahogany stairs of Rose Hall, heading towards the second floor, but somewhere along the middle, two quarreling nations were holding up a line.

"Oww ow ow. _Mes cheveux_! Ah Arthur, the story of the White Witch, _c'est pas vrai!_ It was oww- all fictionalized!"

"You know you could've told me, oh I don't know, maybe before we came in!" Arthur was hysterical. "You bloody perv-beard! Now America is probably pissing himself because he's so scared."

Francis opened his mouth to retort but was shushed by Hungary. They _were_ in a pretty historically important building, and Hungary had told them to keep it down and some other stuff about being respectful.

Rose Hall had been restored sometime in the 1960s, complete with mahogany floors, interior windows and doorways, paneling and wooden ceilings. It was decorated with subtle silk wallpaper printed with palms and birds, ornamented with chandeliers and furnished with European antiques. There was even a bar and a small restaurant downstairs.

"Please let go of _mes__cheveux_." Francis whimpered.

"Tch. Weak bastard." Arthur scoffed, with no real malice behind his words. "Please let me know when we depart."

"What? Where are you going?"

"To find that dim-witted American, who else. He's probably been scared to death and back already."

"_D'accord__._ I'll come get you myself when we leave." France tried to get on Arthur's good side, since the evil Englishman had just found yet another one of his weaknesses.

* * *

"Alfred! Where are you?! Alfred?" Arthur shouted through his cupped hands. He had walked outside, back into the scorching heat, mind you, to find that the courtyard was empty. There was no sign at all of the cheeky American.

"Hamburgers?" He tried, hoping to lure Alfred out.

"Chick flicks?"

"Freedom?"

"Free health care?"

Arthur sucked in a breath. Those things normally had the American nation running towards him like an over-grown puppy.

There was actually one more thing England _hadn't _tried yet …

"What team?"

Faint rustles in the undergrowth, followed by a muffled voice behind Arthur drew his attention to a shuddering bush.

Cautiously, Arthur pushed apart the branches and leaves of the plant to find … Alfred looking up at him with wide eyes, hands clamped over his mouth.

"What the hell?"

"Oh, heyArthur! Funnymeetingyouhere!" Alfred talked so fast his words slurred together.

"What is the United fucking States of America doing in a bush, chattering his head off?"

"Icanexplain!"

"Well first of all, get the hell out of that bush, it looks uncomfortable." Arthur offered an open palm towards Alfred, which the sitting nation quickly grabbed.

But instead of helping Alfred to his feet, he was pulled down on top of the other nation with a startled squeak. Alfred wrapped his arms around the smaller nation, hugging him tightly.

"B-bloody hell. What are y-you doing?" Arthur sputtered, a blush quickly spreading across his cheeks and tried to squirm his way out of the American's grasp.

"I was really scared, Arthur." Alfred's head hung low, into the crook of Arthur's shoulder, refusing to look at the nation sitting in his lap. "You weren't there to comfort me like you did before. Remember when I was still your colony and I would get bad dreams in the middle of the night? Do you still remember that?"

_Of course I still remember that. How could I forget?_

"Y-yeah, sort of. But you can remind me."

"I would knock on your door and when you didn't answer, I would barge in anyway."

Arthur smiled a bit at the memory of little America, coming into his bedchamber at an ungodly hour late at night, crying _'Engwand, I'm scared!'_ over and over again.

Alfred continued. "And you would let me sleep beside you. Sometimes you would hug me and murmur things into my hair."

England's blush deepened.

They sat in silence, listening to each other's' breathing. Arthur's heart rate calmed down, after the initial shock of contact with the other blonde nation.

"H-hey, you know," Arthur started. "The legend of the White Witch isn't true. Francis was being the usual pain in the arse he usually is. He was just pulling your strings. You've got nothing to be afraid of, alright?"

"But he said that her spirit wandered the grounds after m-murdering three of her husbands and that she will-"

"No." Arthur shook his head firmly. "The legend of Annie Palmer was proved to be a hoax a couple of years ago. Many people have gotten her and Rosa Palmer, the original owner of Rose Hall confused. They are two separate people, and only Rosa Palmer has relations to this place. And yes, it was recorded that she had four husbands but she was a good woman all throughout her life."

"S-so you're saying I was scared for nothing?" Alfred raised his head.

"Yes, you big brainless elephant, getting spooked of the smallest things. Did you know that you're one satellite dish short of a TV?"

"Ahaha, sorry." Alfred grinned sheepishly.

"So why didn't you answer to any of my questions?"

"Oh, that. Well I didn't want you to find me looking all pathetic in the bush." The American laughed and scratched his head. "I really wanted to answer to your questions, especially the last one. Which reminds me, WILDCATS!"

"Kind of late for that." England grumbled, embarrassed that he even asked that kind of question. It was a reference to one of Alfred's favourite movies. Yes, that terribly cheesy one with all the singing and dancing. Alfred could often be found belting out the lyrics, perfectly in sync with the whole dance number.

"Ok, last question. Why and how exactly are you in a bush?"

"Ahh well I heard a sound coming from here and I got ah, scared, you could say. But I checked out the bush anyway and it was a really cute bunny rabbit -"

"It can't be a bunny _and _a rabbit. It's either a bunny or a rabbit." Arthur said seriously. "You know I hate inaccuracies with a passion. What is it that you Americans say these days?" He tapped his chin. "Ah yes. Get your shit together."

"Awh you're such a meanie. Anyway, I tried to catch it but it ran away. I didn't want to crawl out in case someone walked by and got the wrong idea. It's a stupid thing, I know."

Arthur was going to insult him some more but bit the inside of his cheek instead. He never wanted anyone to know, hell he didn't even want to admit it to himself, but Alfred was r-really c-cut-te when he did dumb things.

The proximity was getting to Arthur, making him think embarrassing things like that. Yes, that was it. Being so close to Alfred made him lose brain cells. Of course, there really was no better explanation.

He shifted his body so that they could see each other.

"Maybe we should get out this bush. I think we're leaving soon." Arthur whispered, no longer cocky and confident.

"Hmm maybe." Alfred mused, not budging an inch. He nuzzled his face into Arthur's hair. "I like it here, actually. It's nice and quiet. And we're alone."

Arthur gasped as Alfred lightly nipped his ear.

"N-not here, d-dammit." Arthur tried to push him away, though there wasn't much will in his shaking hands.

The American nation happily ignored him and moved onto his neck, softly swirling his tongue across the sensitive area.

"H-ha Ah-Alfred no w-what if someone f-finds ah- us." Arthur gasped for breath as a hand snaked underneath his shirt, running along his tense stomach teasingly.

"I don't care. They can think whatever they want." Alfred mumbled through the light kisses he trailed along Arthur's collarbone.

"Hnng Ah-lfred you fucking tease."

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Kiss me."

"Gladly."

Alfred lowered his mouth onto Arthur's, softly and carefully. He discovered that Arthur's mouth was surprisingly warm and tender for someone with such harsh words. Arthur's hands gripped the back of his jacket tightly as Alfred's tongue explored the inside of his mouth and he tried to bite back a moan. When Alfred started to pull away, Arthur yanked him back, pressing their lips together and sharing a salty-sweet kiss once again.

Arthur tried to ignore the long trail of saliva that stretched in between their open mouths when they pulled apart. He tried to ignore his burning cheeks and the uncomfortable tightness of his pants.

"You've kept me waiting for a very long time, Arthur." Alfred whispered, a bit breathlessly.

"I could say the same for you." Arthur almost lost his train of thought when his eyes met the other pair of piercing blue ones.

The Englishman sucked in a sharp breath as the American nation's wandering hands slowly crept towards the waistband of his shorts.

"Woah hey! What's this?" The sudden appearance of Gilbert's head interrupted them. "Hey I found them! I think they were eating each other's face off!"

* * *

******Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

**A/N:**

**Some victims of drowning do not all drown in the water. Some are saved, or so they think. It's always best to go see a doctor for something like this. But I'm not 100% on the accuracy of this since I heard it from my swim instructor a couple of years ago ... yeah don't take CPR information from me. Not a good idea. 0/10 would recommend. **

**"Siestas and tomatoes were two of Lovino's three favourite things in the world." Sooo anyone want to guess what Lovino's third favourite thing is? Bonus internet cookie as your prize* or a unicorn, depends on what I can find on Craigslist. **

**The Sandals Montego Bay resort is real and it is absolutely beautiful. A couple of family friends have been there and I tried to make everything as accurate as possible so all the descriptions of the locations are legit (the resort, Rose Hall etc.)**

**The legend of the White Witch goes as follows: the spirit of "Annie Palmer" haunts the grounds of Rose Hall Plantation. When her parents died, a nanny adopted her and supposedly taught her witchcraft and voodoo. She then moved to Montego Bay, Jamaica and married John Palmer, the owner of Rose Hall Plantation at that time. Annie supposedly murdered Palmer along with two other husbands and many male plantation slaves, later being murdered herself by a slave named "Takoo".**

**But the whole was fictionalized, like England said. Thank god for that. **

**{french translations}:**

**_Mes cheveux = _my hair**

**_c'est pas vrai = _it's not true**

**_D'accord = _alright / I agree (depends on the context actually)**

**Can anyone guess what Alfred's favourite movie is? u *Bonus spaceship on top of the cookie/unicorn! **

**Well ... the end of that chapter ... Prussia's keepin' it PG. Or more so, he's keeping it rate T. **

**Anyway, please feel free to leave suggestions or criticism! See you all next time! ^^**


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